


Brocelets: A Tale of an Actor and his Wristwear

by KleverKills, Shyznshoi



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Crack Taken Vry Srsly Ppl, Gen, Lots of MANLY Brocelets, Men's Wristwear, Off-screen Relationship(s), Other, crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:55:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3983992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KleverKills/pseuds/KleverKills, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shyznshoi/pseuds/Shyznshoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people are into accessories. Like, really, really into accessories. But not in a gay way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brocelets: A Tale of an Actor and his Wristwear

There is one thing you really have to understand about Jensen Ackles, and that’s that he loves his wristwear. No, not the watches, that’s more Jared’s thing: we’re talking his brocelets. IT IS IMPORTANT TO UNDERSTAND THE DIFFERENCE HERE. What is commonly called bracelets in other circumstances become brocelets in the hands of Jensen. Leather, braided leather, rough leather, smooth leather, brown, black, braided embroidery floss bracelets, red, salmon, blue, white, beaded, skulls, silver, and on and on. No one could begin to list all the types of brocelets this man loves.

No one knows the truth of the story of the day of JJ’s birth. Danneel went into labor, called her obstetrician, and the trip to the hospital was on….but there was one thing Jensen just had to do before welcoming his daughter into the world. And it seemed like he’d have time. Danneel’s check-in was long and laborious, and Jensen was antsy as fuck by the time they finally got her into a Labor and Delivery suite. Still, monitors had to be applied and the epidural administered, and despite his attempts to concentrate, he just…couldn’t…stop…thinking. About Jared’s awesome brocelet with the silver I.D. plate bearing Thomas’s name. (This had caused Jensen to seethe with jealousy the first time he saw it, and to be honest, it was part of the reason he was so excited about becoming a father. He would finally be in the club! He, too would have a reason to buy an awesome but still manly brocelet with his baby’s NAME engraved right there on it!) So that’s why he ended up in a jeweler’s on Rodeo Drive, waiting for the engraver to finish, at the exact moment Justice Jay entered the world. (Sue him, he had no idea they’d do a C-section and what the fuck the baby would be SO. EARLY. JEEZE.)

If one were to walk into the master bedroom of the Ackles household you would be faced with two matching jewelry armoires on either side of the room. One for Danneel’s jewelry and one for Jensen’s brocelets collection. If you were to dig deeper and take a peek into the closet you’d see that Jensen’s collection has grown so numerous that he also keeps a few smaller jewelry boxes tucked away there. When asked about his obsession, Danneel will only roll her eyes and sigh. She long ago accepted the existence of the brocelets as a part of everyday life. She even occasionally gifted Jensen with a nice one, but they were never as awesome as the ones he picked out himself.

I think you’ve all gotten the picture JENSEN ACKLES LOVES HIS BROCELETS. This is as absolute as the sky being blue, grass being green, and sun rising and setting everyday.

All of this leads us to our story.

Place: Rome, Italy

Time: 1:00 pm

Setting: Jus in Bello VI Supernatural Convention

Fans don’t realize it, but though it appears that Clif is the golf club toter he is in fact the brocelet toter. Yes I know this hard to believe, but the fact is that expensive hard-shell “golf club case” is actually the case for all of the various brocelets Jensen travels with. Can you blame him? Who wants to get caught out with BARE WRISTS? Unthinkable!

While others might spend hours trying to decide what to wear down to the panels, Jensen knows exactly what clothes he’s wearing to every event. No, the problem for him is the selection of the appropriate, fashionable, coordinating, MANLY brocelets for each outfit. There are so many choices: festive (yet manly) beaded alternatives, leather that ranges from simple and natural to formal and flashy, maybe a metal brocelet of some kind, which is always wonderful for reflecting the light and catching the eyes of the audiences. The choices and mixes are endless. Jensen had showered, dressed, and primped hours ago, but he just could not decide on the right combination. Brocelets were spread all across the bed, some on the dresser, they were even strewn across the bathroom. When one felt right, it just didn’t seem to work with others. Sure when he looked down at his wrist or held it up to inspect it they looked great, but damn it if it didn’t look all wrong once he looked in the mirror. Jensen was vaguely aware he might just be late if he didn’t get this shit straight, but for him, if the brocelets aren’t right, NOTHING is right. He slumped down on the hotel bed with a dejected sigh and stared glumly into the mirror, thinking, “No.”

A knock at the door stirred him from his internal crisis enough to hear the yell, “What the fuck? We’re gonna be late!” It was Misha, of course, they had photo ops soon. This was terrible. Hundreds of fans would be waiting and would all have pictures of his brocelets, THEY HAD TO BE RIGHT! Jensen grumpily yelled, “Just hang on a minute!”, and went to the door, opening it only enough to reveal Misha’s face. “I’m not finished dressing yet, so hang on to your panties, dude,” he said to Misha, hoping against hope he could somehow keep his room from the prying eyes of hotel staff, inquisitive co-stars, or anyone else who didn’t understand his dependence on these terrifically important pieces of man-jewelry. Unfortunately. Misha seemed a little…angry…and the minute Jensen cracked the door, Misha pushed past Jensen and was IN. HIS. ROOM.

Where the 119 brocelets he’d packed for the long Euro-Australian trip were arrayed all across his bed, the tops of both dressers, the table, and the counter where the TV stood. Misha was now “in the know” about Jensen’s secret fashion obsession!

“Umm, Jensen, wow what happened in here? What is all this?” Jensen watched in horror as Misha crossed the room and started picking up brocelet after brocelet, his brow furrowed in curious fascination.

Jensen’s heart sank. Too late to do anything about it. “Dude!,” he exclaimed, “Way to barge in my private room!” He thought maybe the best defense in this situation was a good offense, and besides, they were late. Maybe once he got Misha out of there he could persuade him everything he’d seen had really been…uh…test collars for Icarus. Yeah. He arranged for some high-end Italian pet shops to courier over a selection of new collars for Icarus, and so…dammit! He mentally chastised himself for this lame lame cover story, and did the only thing he knew how to do: get rid of Misha so he could GET THIS SHIT UNDER CONTROL. “Misha, man,” he said tiredly while wiping his forehead with one hand, “I’ll be down in like two minutes, okay? Just…don’t give me any shit.” Jensen grabbed Misha’s arm and propelled him towards the door before he could say anything. “I’ll be there, we won’t be that late, and please just gimme a break.”

Misha went willingly enough, but a fly on the wall of that room would have found Jensen, grown man, sulking like a child. People just didn’t understand the pressure. Did no one understand? Well, except for Danneel, but she wasn’t there. Jensen felt so sorry for himself. Goddammit, there he was…in ROME, of all places, where he would not only be having hundreds (if not thousands) of fan photos taken, but where fashion was also taken Very Seriously. He said a silent prayer of thanks that there were no fan conventions in Paris. I mean, this was NOT goddamn Fresno or Indianapolis or Orlando. This was Europe, and his wrist game had to be ON FUCKING POINT.

A timid knock drew Jensen back to the door, “What?!?,” he snapped. It was Misha, standing there again, looking contrite. “Dammit Misha I said I’d be down in a minute!”

Misha, not one to make a confrontation worse, seemed to know that if nothing else, Jensen was very stressed about these damn things not wanting to match up right. Misha just held out the wristwear he’d accidently carried out. “Hey, you pushed me out before I could put these back. So, um, Jensen why don’t we grab some lunch before we head out, you know, take a breather. The fans won’t mind waiting a bit.” Misha gave him a small smile and Jensen figured even if the guy didn’t understand he was trying.

He took the brocelets with a gruff “Yeah, sure” before shutting the door again. Really looking at the brown buddhist pray bead looking wristwear Misha had handed him, Jensen realized that the Brocelet Gods had smiled upon him. There in his hand was the perfect one to compliment the red and gold wrapped on his wrist. He quickly wrapped the brown beads around his wrist twice and ran over to the mirror. YES! This was it this is what he’d been looking for to complete the look of the day. Red and blue plaid shirt, jeans, boots, and the perfect brocelets. Fucking on point!

TEN HOURS LATER AT THE BAR

Jensen sprawled comfortably in the plush booth, savoring the aftertaste of the excellent whiskey he’d just downed. It had been one helluva day. Misha, Rob, Jason, Rich, Jim, Tahmoh, Felicia…all the playas. Everyone was exhausted, but never let it be said that this cast let a convention end without a big ass party to wind things up. He stretched his arms out over his head and brought them down slowly to rest his hands on either side of the seat. He heard the hum of conversation, smelled the burn-y smell of candles and potpourri and stuff like that, and his eye happened to catch on the light reflecting off the charm that hung from the center of the brown beaded wraparound; the last brocelet he’d selected; the one Misha had inadvertently taken and returned at the last minute, and he slowly rotated his wrist all the way to the left. All the way to the right. The charm was…some kind of Buddhist thing, he didn’t know, but…it gleamed. He admired the way the rich red of brocelet number one contrasted with the warm brown of the Buddhist prayer beady-thingie, and the way all of it looked when you also factored in the red and navy plaid of the rolled-up cuffs of his shirt. Well. Now. THAT was fucking special. And in that moment, Jensen Ackles was happy.

**Author's Note:**

> TOTAL CRACK PEOPLE! NONE OF THIS EVER HAPPENED, WE DON'T KNOW WHAT BROCELETS HE WAS WEARING, OR WHAT TIME LUNCH WAS OR IF THEY PARTIED LATER, OKAY?
> 
> ***special shoutout to Miranda for the word "bro-celets." We were pondering what Jensen should call his awesome wristlets, and she came up with it on the spot . Kinda like Dean came up with "vampirates." Oh haiiiiiii, Miranda, your name is in the Authors' Notes on Supernatural Fanfic!


End file.
